


The Drop

by Thanks_for_the_letters



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game), Titanfall (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bish is important to Max's backstory, But as soon as the helmets come off, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Chloe is The Militia's Lesbian Icon, Eliot Hampden Dies The Painful Death He Deserves, F/F, Fluff, Get it? BI-lot? It's not actually that funny, It's nothing but very gay eye contact, Letters's Smut-Free Guarantee™, MRVN finally gets his high-five, Max is their most famous BIlot, Mutual Denial of Feelings, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Operation: Broadsword, Tags Contain Puns, They're trying to be professional, Which is rather genius if I do say so myself, gays in space, post-typhon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2020-10-03 23:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20461538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thanks_for_the_letters/pseuds/Thanks_for_the_letters
Summary: Two months after the battle of Typhon, and with General Marder and ARES Division on the back foot, the 11th Militia Fleet turns its attention to the Remnant Fleet, and its seemingly endless hordes of robotic combatants led by the mystery-shrouded Spyglass. Max Caulfield, a new yet competent combat-certified pilot, has been tasked with Special Operation 219: locating the source of the Remnant Fleet's Titan manufacturing facilities within the frontier. Due to the high-risk nature of the mission, Commander Sarah Briggs tasks Chloe Elizabeth Price, a reckless and unorthodox fellow SRS pilot to assist her.The duo must fight to survive and uphold the mission as they trek across the Frontier, accompanied by their not-very-subtle 40-ton death-machine companions. Watch them gun down the mechanical menace as they team up with unlikely allies, go on accidental safari's, and inadvertently brush up against the greats, all while violently denying that their relationship is anything more than professional. Because when even your Titan can tell the silence is awkward, you can either 'fess up, or throw yourself back into it in a vain attempt to forget how cute her eyes are. You know which one they're going to choose.





	1. Special Operation 219.

**Author's Note:**

> I am a massive fanboy for both of these games, and will not hesitate to use my extensive knowledge of Titanfall lore. Because I'm coming from the LiS fandom however, here's the wiki in case you get confused: https://titanfall.fandom.com/wiki/Titanfall_Wiki

_ Beep Beep Beep _goes the alarm clock.

_ Slap _goes the hand onto the alarm clock.

_ Grumble _goes the shape under the covers.

“Hey, Relic! You’re wanted on the bridge in an hour!”

“Ugh, fiiiiine” goes the disgruntled shape under the covers as its legs swing over the edge of the bed and it slowly rotates into a sitting position, the covers still draped over its right side. A small left hand rises to stifle the Ogre-sized yawn that emanates from the being. Sapphire eyes blink open, and stray mahogany bangs are brushed… elsewhere on the face. _ One Max Caulfield, at your service. In like, five minutes, after she regains some coherence. Right now? Shower time. I must be getting an assignment. _ She crosses her small cabin, stepping into the equally small bathroom. _ At least… *yawn* At least I don’t have to bunk like the grunts. Perks of being a useful asset. _ Her plain black pyjamas are thrown out the bathroom door onto the bed, and Max emerges five minutes later, cleaner and much more alert. _ Time to put on your daily armour, Max. _

  
Opening the left locker at the end of her bed, she takes out the camo overalls and slips them on. The standard blue, naval-esque colours. She sits on the end of her bed to tie her boots. A grey climbing harness is secured. Ballistic pads are strapped to her shins, knees and thighs. She steps into the titanium exoskeleton which will make carrying her equipment a breeze. It reaches up to her waist, where it’s connected to the harness, and Max straps the feet onto her boots. The power cable is allowed to dangle for a minute. Max’s main piece of body armour is, quite frankly, a bomb disposal vest. It’s in a custom light grey and pink like the rest of her armour, instead of the standard blue and yellow. Despite it being heavy, it’s a lot better than what they originally offered her, which was very little. _ How do the other women deal with so little armour? _As much as she likes it however, putting it on is a time consuming process. Pulling the heavy composite mesh over her head, then tightening the various straps to secure it takes a good few minutes. Special straps are fed through specific slots in the heavy armour for the next and most important step. Max turns back to the locker, and picks up the most important part of her gear; her Jump Kit. A pilot’s second-most defining feature. The power pack sits flush with the back of her armour, the tiny yet powerful batteries glowing from the LEDs in the casing. The pack clips onto the straps at her shoulders, and the cable for her exoskeleton plugs into it at the bottom of her right ribs.The Jump Kit itself is next. It clips securely into a slot near the base of the bulky chestpiece, and then into the power pack above it. Another set of straps clip around her waist, then into the front of her shoulder straps and into the harness. More ballistic pads are strapped to her arms. Gloves cover her hands.

She spends a few minutes gathering the miscellaneous stuff, two utility pouches, two signal smokes, and her Data Knife, which she slots into the sheath on her right exoskeleton leg. Reaching into the right locker, she grabs her arms. A Wonyeon Defense M1a3 Hemlok BF-R, which goes on the magnetic holster on her back. A Lastimosa Armoury Smart Pistol MK 6, for the holster on her right hip. She’ll pick up her ammo and ordnance later, it’s too dangerous to keep in her quarters, for obvious reasons. 

Lastly, she cradles her helmet in her hands. The sharp, angular lines and T-shaped visor weigh surprisingly little given its size and all the tech both inside and on it. Max rubs the doe printed on the top left with her thumb, before spinning it round and slotting it on her head. _ As much as I do love my gear, it’s a bitch to get into. _

Making her way out of her cabin and through the halls towards the bridge, she watches her helmet feed as her various bits of equipment boot and sync with each other, the HUD kicking into gear. A few grunts whisper to each other as she passes them by. Max is used to the looks and the _ “Is it true what they say about her?” _ s she gets by now. _ They must be new recruits. _ She can’t blame them for gossiping though, day-to-day life on the _ MCS Dunnam _ isn’t exactly interesting. On her way to the bridge, the corridors are mostly empty. A few MRVNs bustle about, cleaning and maintaining the ship. A squad of grunts in full kit jog past, likely running lengths of the carrier instead of the treadmills. _ Must be 59__th _ _ men. _All in all, Max arrives on the bridge just in time, pulling off her helmet and clipping it to her belt as she enters.

On the bridge, stands none other than Cheng “Bish” Lorck. The pilot is immediately concerned; something big must be going on if it drags him out of his workshop. Her concern is amplified into full-on worry when she notices he’s talking to none other than Sarah fucking Briggs.

_ The Militia’s best tech guy and the 9__th _ _ gen Commander of the Marauder Corps both want to see me? I should probably get ready to be thrown out the airlock. _

Commander Briggs speaks up first. “All personnel, clear the bridge.”

_ Oh dog, I might actually have a panic attack. I can deal with a Titan on my own with nothing but grenades, but talking to a commanding officer? Apparently not! _

Once the bridge is empty but for the three of them, Bish seems to sense her distress, and gives her a rather short but warm hug. Though due to her surprise, Max’s arms remain firmly glued to her side. “We’re not here to chew you out Max, so calm down. We’ve got an assignment for you buddy,” he explains. “Sarah?”

“Right” the veteran begins. “With the IMC on the back foot after the Battle of Typhon, we’re in a good place right now. We’ve a good amount of supplies, and the victory has been a huge boost to our cause. But there’s a different problem we’re not addressing well enough: The Remnant Fleet.” Max thinks back, to when the Remnant Fleet was still the IMC. If she tries, she can almost remember the voice of Vice Admiral Graves. It’s part of a memory, more the feeling of something that happened, the specifics blurry impressions of events. Graves, and a specialized Spectre unit with ear-like antennae on its head. Spyglass, it was called. Sarah continues “We know freelance pilots combat them directly, but the Militia has never made many direct attempts to disable or destroy it. We’ve been mostly defending ourselves. But they’ve stepped up their attacks on Militia worlds recently, and as much as they’re keeping our enemies distracted, the Remnant Fleet is a double-edged sword. High Command wants us to do something.” She pauses to make sure Max is caught up. “Because the Remnant Fleet lacks manpower, they rely on automated infantry. This would be fine if all they had were Stalkers, Spectres and Reapers, but a large portion of their forces are made up of automated Titans. Way more than we have, and that’s a problem. That’s why you’re here, pilot Caulfield. We’re tasking you with Special Operation 219: we want you to find out where the Remnant Fleet is getting their Titans from. If possible, we hope to take over their Titan production. If not, we’ll destroy it. Without Titan support, the Remnant Fleet is much less of a threat. The 11th fleet is here to assist you, either as a diversionary force or support. We're also allowing you to commandeer dropships from the hangar bays to deploy and extract you and your Titans. Head down there and talk to AC-T Graham. If you get a lead outside the system, talk to Admiral Stone.”

“Why me?” queries the shorter woman. “Surely you’ve got a better pilot for this? I mean this is a huge operation!”

“Because you know more about how the IMC works than we do.” Bish cuts in. “You’re the one with experience. And we know it’s a dangerous Op, so you’re not doing it alone. We have another pilot ready to join you, she’s already been briefed on the mission.”

“Bish!”

“Max. I know you don’t like working with people, but sending you on this one alone would get you killed. And if it makes you feel any better, I’ve got a fancy new gadget for you.”

“Fine” Max sighs. A beep can be heard, and Sarah glances at her wrist.

“Any questions?” Sarah asks as she goes to leave.

“Just one. You mentioned independent pilots fighting the Remnant Fleet. D’you know if they’re part of an organisation?”

“Two guys that used to be 6-4, Droz and Davis run it. A group called The Last Resort. They usually defend Harvester sites. That it?”

“Yeah. Thanks Commander Briggs.”

“I’ll send the other Pilot in in a minute. Bish, when you’re done here, don’t forget to let the crew back in!” she shouts as she walks out.

“So,” Max exclaims with obvious excitement, spinning on her foot to face the electrical engineer. “Fancy gadget?”

“Right here.” Bish pulls a device out of his pocket. It’s a rather flat hexagonal box, with a blue LED strip in a ring in the centre. A few straps form what Max guesses is a fingerless glove. “Hold out your hand.” The pilot does as she’s asked, and Bish secures the device to her right hand, the box resting on the back. “It’s a modified Time Gauntlet,” he states. “Instead of jumping between two points in time like the previous one, it reverses time for about a minute at max. It’ll recharge through your power pack, so don’t worry about it running out of juice. It’s as resilient as your Jump Kit too, so you can let it get bashed about. Not that you should do that deliberately. Anything you’re carrying will come with you, and it’ll work even in a Titan. It should have synced to your helmet by now, so you’re good to try it out. Just stretch out your hand. Go back to when I gave it to you.”

Max holds her arm out, and stretches. There’s an energy that flows from the device that wraps around her, and suddenly everything is moving _ backwards. _ There’s a ghostly version of her undoing what she had just been doing, and Bish moves in reverse. He speaks backwards too, like audio being rewound. The pilot lets go as the engineer goes to pull it out of his pocket.   
  


“This is really cool, Bish! Thanks so much!”

Bish looks puzzled, before rooting through his pockets to find the device missing. He puts it together pretty quickly.

“Good to hear, buddy. Can’t let all my work go to waste if you die on me.”

“I’m a top pilot for a reason. I’ll be fine.”

“You’d better hope so. I gotta get back to it, but I’ll send in the other pilot on my way out. Don’t take too long, or the crew’ll think they can call it a day. See you ‘round, buddy.”

Bish wanders out through the main doors to the bridge, and Max takes the time to marvel at the fancy box on her hand that tells the laws of the universe to go fuck themselves whenever she wants it to. Her attention is snatched however, by the pilot that walks in as the bridge doors swish open.

  
She’s dressed in gear typical for a grapple user, in the Militia’s olive drab and orange. But there’s part of a tattoo visible under her partially rolled up sleeves, and a necklace tucked under her comparatively light body armour. She’s carrying a Wonyeon EVA-8 Auto shotgun, which she holsters on her back. A B3 Wingman that’s rather battered. The new pilot takes her helmet off and holds it against her hip, revealing a head of cyan hair with magenta roots. Eyes like the sky shine at her from a sharp yet soft face, and they lock onto hers. Max tries to watch instead of outright staring as this _ very attractive _pilot practically sidles up to her, before sticking out her hand for the stunned brunette to shake.

“Pilot Chloe Price, Marauder Corps. Good to finally meet you. Max Caulfield, right?”

She takes the slender hand in front of her and really piles as much of the “Militia’s finest” professionalism on as possible, because if Chloe’s easy to be around, Max is as fucked as a grunt on Demeter.


	2. Atmosphere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max finally gets some food. The duo finish gearing up.

“Yep, I’m Max Caulfield. Bish said you’ve been briefed, right?”

“I’m so briefed, I barely felt it.” Max can’t tell if the joke is crude, or just so ungodly terrible that it’s not funny. She realises it’s probably both.

“Well Chloe, I don’t know about you, but Briggs dragged me here so early I haven’t had breakfast yet. Wanna come with so we can actually discuss some leads?” Max posits.

“Dude, I haven’t eaten since yesterday. I’m down for hella food!” Chloe enthuses. “Lead the way, Pilot Caulfield!”

“As you wish, Pilot Price!” Max sasses through an exaggerated accent, bowing beside the exit and flourishing her upturned palm towards the door. Chloe barks out a laugh at Max’s antics, and _ Saunters _ out into the halls of the _ MCS Dunnam. _ (Yes, _ actually _ saunters, saturated with so much confidence that Max has to assume that Chloe is: a. Obnoxiously full of herself, and very likely b. _ very _ aware that she’s _ Very _ attractive, and has and will spend her life totally owning it). So maybe Max stares a bit. Just for a second. Or a few. _ Hey, can you really blame me? _ Max is very bi after all, and she’s always had a preference. So the poor brunette’s face burns like thermite when she’s snapped back to reality by the subject of her _ undivided attention _ calling back over her shoulder. “Hey Caulfield! You looking for breakfast, or is the maintenance MRVN breakdancing or something?” The flustered woman can just about hear Chloe mutter “I’d pay to see that actually.” She can’t help but chuckle. Wandering out of the bridge to catch up with her squadmate, she lets the crew back onto the bridge. A couple of confirmatory mumbles can be heard before they head back to their stations.

  
Max’s Jump Kit kicks in as she sprints to catch up to Chloe, who’s already a good 20 metres down the corridor, thanks to her long athletic legs which Max can _ totally _ stop thinking about whenever she wants. The shorter pilot slides once she closes in on her taller companion, before jumping to her feet in one smooth, Jump Kit assisted movement. Contrary to what Max was expecting, the bluenette matches her pace with her.

_ How nice of her. _

“So, where to Max?” Chloe enquires as they stroll towards a bank of elevators. Max pulls up a map of the ship on the datapad in her left wristpad, tapping out a query while they wait for the lift to descend to their deck. “Closest mess is on deck seven, and it’s the better one. Not that there’s much of a difference,” she states as the elevator arrives and they climb in. Chloe pokes the button with a slender finger, and the brunette notices her nails are painted blue, like her hair, like her eyes. Max _ really _ needs to get a grip on this out-of-control gay she’s experiencing as Chloe leans back against the opposite wall. Her arms cross over her chest, displaying the bold colours of her tattoo like a prowler raising its spines. The owner of said tattoo takes notice of the other woman’s staring however. _ Guess I wasn’t being very subtle about it. _

“You sizing me up Caulfield?” she says, slightly amused. In an attempt to save face, Max rolls with it. “Of course I am,” she retorts in a mix of snark and sarcasm. “I need to be sure you can keep up with me.” Chloe barks out a loud “Hah!” as she flings her head back, before leveling her gaze on the shorter woman.

“I beat the gauntlet in 28.6 seconds, Smallfield! You’re the one that needs to keep up!” There’s a challenging glint in Chloe’s eyes, and although Max doesn’t appreciate the jab at her height, Chloe says it with a smile on her face. Max doesn’t take it seriously.

The elevator comes to a stop. Left, then straight (or alternatively, gayly forward) and through the double doors. Said doors open up into the huge mess hall, a sea of steel canteen benches. Due to the comparatively late time the two pilots get there, it’s mostly empty, but thankfully still serving food. The squad from the 59th that ran past Max earlier sits around one table, chattering to themselves. One of the grunts nods in their direction as they enter, but returns to the conversation just as quickly. The pilots grab some breakfast (bacon, scrambled egg and hash browns for Chloe, Waffles for Max) and steel a bench in the corner, sitting across from each other. She knows this is her last chance to savour them before she’s stuck with rations and prowler meat for the rest of this operation. Chloe immediately begins demolishing the food, while Max tries to commit her waffles to memory before she’ll be forced to go through withdrawal again.

“So tell me,” Chloe says after a few minutes of quiet, pointing a bit of hash brown at Max in an accusing manner. “Why the hell haven’t I seen you around before if we’ve been on the same ship?”

Max snorts at the question. “Probably because I spend any time I’m not training hiding in my cabin.”

“So do you actually do anything, or do you just lie there looking cute?”

* * *

_ FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK _

_Those were supposed to be brain words, not mouth words! And now there they were, out there! Being audible!_

Shit. Why did Briggs have to assign her to the adorable one? Short girls were like, Chloe’s singular weakness (besides food). And Briggs had to have known. Their pathetic attempts to reach things were so damn endearing. And the way you had to lean down or pick them up to kiss them properly! _It is _way_ too early for me to be _this _gay._ Ugh. And who was she kidding anyway? Chloe didn’t have feelings for Max. That’d be ridiculous; she’d barely known the woman for half an hour! No. _I’m _SO _not gay for Max._ _And really dude? We have to take down the Remnant Fleet’s Titan production! We’ve got fish six times bigger to fry! Focus up already_.

Max, if it weren’t for the fact that she was redder than a can of paint, looks generally unfazed. “I mostly just read, or listen to music,” the brunette answers lamely. “I-uh... I have a camera I use occasionally.” Now that's interesting.

“Can I see?” Chloe makes an effort to be professional about it, and not let too much excitement slip through.

“Oh! Sure, uh-one sec.” Max was evidently hadn’t expected the other pilot to take an interest. And Chloe had expected Max to pull up some photos on her wristpad, so when she went fumbling through a pocket and pulled out a few squares of what took Chloe a minute to realise was film, she threw Chloe through one hell of a loop.

Despite the fact that the eight photos Max hands her are only of the Dunnam, they display some _ obvious _ skill. A photo of the disgruntled quartermaster is made even more broody by the way the lighting is dim enough to only just make his aggravated self clearly visible in the right side of the frame, the cage door to the weapon racks taking up the left-hand side; the fluorescent lighting inside casting a criss-cross of shadows over the utilitarian steel floor.

“Damn Max, you’ve got talent!” Chloe observes as she handed the shots back, and Max grins a bit before her face slides back to business mode.

“Thanks!” The brunette’s words are uncertain and self-conscious, evidently not believing she fully deserves the praise.

“Anyway, leads. Where do we want to start?” the taller woman ventures as she polishes off her food, eager to move on to the prospect of scrapping some spectres.

“I think we should talk to Droz and Davis first. Those guys running The Last Resort? They deal with the Remnant Fleet all the time, and we’ll need an idea of what we’re going up against.”

“Makes sense to me. You wanna finish those waffles in the next year or two and we’ll get going?” The brunette gives her the finger as she takes a pointedly large bite of waffle, clearly not as amused as her squadmate.

  
While Max finishes her food, Chloe does a quick check of her equipment. She pulls the EVA-8 Auto off the mag-holster on her back. A drum-fed shotgun, it’s perfect for Chloe; up-close and personal, ideal for getting in the enemy’s face and blasting them as you zoom past at high speed. It puts the dingiest back-alleys of Angel City to shame with the sheer amount of spray paint and graffiti that litters its surface (all Chloe’s work of course). Completely random stuff has been tagged onto the firearm, from _Fuck the IMC_ in uncharacteristically neat cursive, to a MRVN holding a pride flag. The whole thing is obnoxiously colourful. She shifts the safety, and checks the slide, charging handle, and chamber, before setting it back to safe and holstering it. The B3 Wingman is the next thing to grab her attention. It’s battered and scratched to shit, but it’s sentimental and Chloe doesn’t give a fuck. The loud _ crack _of the high-caliber rounds is an added bonus. She opens the chamber and spins the cylinder before flicking it closed. Eyeing Max, who has been watching with some interest, she spins the revolver around her finger a few times, before flinging it into the air, catching it and slamming it into the holster. The brunette raises an eyebrow over her fork, and Chloe just gives her an obnoxiously proud grin. The shorter woman shakes her head and returns to her breakfast. Chloe spends the rest of the time doing tricks with her Data Knife.

Max finishes her breakfast far too slowly for Chloe’s liking, and they head out in the direction of the hangar. Thankfully most of the trip is spent going in a straight line, though the walk is much less eventful this time. When the duo finally reach the double doors though, they get a rather blunt reminder of just how big the ship they’re on is. As they step through them, the pilots are greeted by a _ vast _ aircraft hangar. It spans about half the length of the gargantuan carrier, with two pairs of enormous armoured bulkheads on both sides near the stern. Two smaller hangars at the bottom of the ship’s bow house all four wings of the carrier’s Hornet fighters. The big ventral hangar they’re in now is dedicated to ground support roles. It contains two wings of Crow dropships, and more importantly, a group of Widows. Towering, thin dropships designed for retrieving titans from the battlefield, in white and blue paint. It’s crammed to the brim full of gigantic snowy aircraft and the smaller green transports. The fact the Militia managed to get their hands on enough to supply _ one _ McAllan-class with an entire _ group _ of the titan transports is simply amazing. Six lifts are spaced evenly throughout the hangar on either side, large enough to carry titans effortlessly to and from the titan bay.

A small speck of light above them reveals a room protruding from the corner between wall and ceiling, a gantry for access up and around the cavernous space. _ Thank fuck there’s a lift. _ Chloe signals her companion over. The pilots ride up to the walkways, and make their way towards the room, the door labelled _ Flight Operations & ATC - Transport. _ It’s quiet at the minute, mostly because the _ Dunnam _ is just kind of chillin’. In fact, Chloe observes it’s mostly empty, save for a brunet XO _ Asleep at his desk, of course, _ and a poor woman with shortish red hair who just gives her this pleading look that screams _ Please get me the fuck out of here I haven’t slept in a week _ louder than the redhead would ever be capable of. Chloe gives her a quiet nod, and the woman looks at her gratefully before pressing a button as her head falls onto the desk with a slightly concerning _ clunk. _An equally concerned asian woman emerges from the large doors at the back of the room, before spotting the autumn-haired woman and hoisting her out of the chair. Chloe catches the look of loving disappointment the tanned woman gives her ember-haired companion through her contrasting long dark hair, and the rather obvious rings the two are wearing as they leave.

_ I wonder if Max woul- _

_ HOLY FUCK CHLOE NO GET YOUR GAY SHIT TOGETHER YOU USELESS H-HAUL* _

While Chloe has been distracted by the couple, Max has sneaked up on the slumbering XO. The brunette gives him a rather sharp poke in the shoulder. Startled, the man flings himself up from his desk so fast he manages to flip his chair over and smacks his head on the floor.

“Oh my dog, are you OK?!” Max blurts out as a head pokes up above the capsized seat. A pair of eyes seem to lock onto Max. He takes no notice of Chloe, who has taken to staring round the room at all of the shiny buttons she _ Must not press. _

“Huh? Oh, I will be,” the officer replies, notably unfazed. “That… uh, happens embarrassingly often.” He pushes himself to his feet, and rights his chair before falling back into it in a much more controlled manner. “Right. I’m Warren Graham, Air Commander-Transport. AC-T when you’re not bothered with the full thing.” The rather young officer shoves out his hand, which Max shakes for as short a time as possible.

“So what’re you here for, pilot? I hear you’re not the type to sit around and chat.”

“Commander Briggs assigned us a dropship. We’re here to check it out before we gear up.” Max replies timidly.

“Ah, give me a second.” The XO excuses as he picks up a tablet. He taps away at it for a bit.

  
  
“Aha! Widow Alpha 1-3. Third down on the left-hand side. See it?” He points out the window in the general direction of the hangar. As he does this, Chloe shifts her attention back to Max to find her looking distinctly uncomfortable. Chloe is instantly pissed, and ready to have a word with whoever’s fucking with her partner.

She finds him. Warren is staring at Max like he has a right to, and the bluenette is _ NOT dealing with this kind of shit. _The final straw is when he starts asking Max out a second later.

“So, d’you wanna do something whe…”

“HEY!” Chloe bellows across the room, marching on the offending officer. “Can you stop oogling my squadmate?” She asks as she gets up in his face, the bluenette towering over him with murder in her eyes. Warren is a flustered mess. Max is secretly grateful. “Come on Max, let’s go.”

Max looks like she’s desperately trying not to run as she rejoins Chloe and they leave Air Traffic Control. As the doors swish closed behind them, Chloe checks in with her partner.

“Dude, are you OK? That guy was way out of line to be eyeing you like that.”

_ That’s my jo… NOT NOW HOLY SHIT _

“I’m… no, not really. He wouldn’t stop staring.” Max sullenly replies.

Chloe stops in her tracks and pulls Max into a hug. It’s awkward and a little uncomfortable around all of Max’s kit, but the sheer warmth and gratitude the other woman radiates when she hugs Chloe back is more than enough for her. “I’m sorry, Max.” 

They stay like that for a minute. “Feeling better?”

“A little. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m giving Stone a call and filing a complaint.”

“Chloe…”

“No Max. I do need to do this. That guy was so fucking far out of line I was five secconds away from cracking his head on that stupid desk.”

“Chloe…”

Chloe practically rips her helmet off her belt and slams it on her head. “Admiral Stone?” she queries as it comes online. The duo step onto the lift to return to the hangar proper.

“Might I ask why you’re calling me directly, pilot Price? You’re lucky I’m not in the middle of somethin’,” the aged man’s Lancashire accent replies.

“I just wanted to let you know that your AC-T Graham just spent the last five minutes oogling my squadmate like she was his property, and that she was _ extremely _ uncomfortable in his presence, Sir.”

“Blast. I apologise pilot Price, several others have said the same since I promoted ‘im to that position last week. Clearly I made a bad choice as to who should fill old man Stephenson’s shoes. Back to flying Crows for ‘im. Thanks for tellin’ me that, pilot. Who’s your squadmate?”

“Pilot Caulfield, Sir.”

“Well tell pilot Caulfield she won’t have to deal with ‘im anymore, and if he tries something like that again, she’s got my permission to deck ‘im.”

“Will do, Sir. Thanks for that.”

“Not a problem Pilot. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“Of course Admiral.”

As soon as Chloe’s helmet is back on her belt, Max envelops her in another hug. A “Thank you” is whispered into her shoulder, and Chloe is _ Not _two seconds from melting in this tiny woman’s heavily armoured arms. Nope. Not at all.

  
Max pulls away, and Chloe _ is _ OK with that. She’s _ not _ disappointed at all. They continue walking towards the dropship Chloe’s helmet pinged, through _ perfectly normal tension-free _air. Their stop at the dropship is brief; they look it over and meet the pilot, a mute woman who signs her name as Faraday. Max surprises Chloe again when she signs her reply back.

* * *

The stop-off at Quartermaster Madsen is fairly speedy as well. They collect their ammo, ordnance and AT weapons: Max’s Brockhaurd Manufacturing Archer Heavy Rocket and Arc Grenades, Chloe’s Wonyeon Defense Anti-Titan Sidewinder Micro Rocket Launcher and Frags. Chloe exchanges her pilot gear for her actual kit, which had apparently been undergoing repairs. She disappears into a convenient changing room for about five minutes, and when she comes out, Max is _fucking floored._ Chloe’s donned a mish-mash set of old IMC pilots gear that’s got to be about five years old by now. The helmet is an old rifleer pilot’s helmet, which is like a more angular version of the Militia’s most common pilot helmet style. Her jump kit is a more modern version, the same design as Max’s. What truly gets the brunette is that she’s swapped the militia jumpsuit for an old IMC marksman pilot’s, and those suits were (and are), _ rather form-fitting. _ Don’t be fooled, it’ll still shrug off rounds like confetti, and the freedom of movement it affords you is still difficult to beat with modern gear, but whether Max likes it or not (she likes it) it’s having an additional effect of making the bluenette look Hot.

_ Sexy AND bullet-proof! Nice. _

_ DAMMIT MAX STOP! _

Chloe’s kit is still in its original white with some custom blue accents, but the IMC patches have been replaced with SRS division logos, and a few additions of her own. Notably, more pride flags on the upper arms, in place of what historically would’ve been a national flag below the division patches.

_ She looks like a deadly, gay angel. _

_ GET IT TOGETHER MAX!! _

The punk pilot looks much more comfortable in the returned gear, evidenced by the fact that the saunter Max noticed earlier is _ somehow even more _ confident. The shorter woman has to wonder if Chloe’s doing it deliberately.

_ Please tell me she IS doing it deliberately. _

_ HOLY FUCK I’M NEVER LIKE THIS WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?! _

Having finished _ that, _ the duo _finally_ reach the titan bay.

“Hey Kate!” Max called as she strolled into the hangar. “Hello, Pilot Caulfield!” came the rather chipper response from the 40-ton Vanguard class death machine in the rack. In carbon coloured paint with a mix of accents in white, black and deep violet, it’d be surprisingly difficult to find the titan in the dark. KT-1128 is printed in white to the left of Kate’s main hatch.

“Kate, say hi to Chloe Price. She’ll be accompanying us for a while.”

“Hello, Pilot Price,” Kate gives the bluenette a wave, which she reciprocates.

“‘Sup, Katie?” Chloe replies before shifting her attention.

“‘Sup, bitch?” she calls into the adjacent bay.

“Not much, bitch.” comes the completely left-field response from the other Vanguard that shakes everything Max knows to the core. Chloe’s titan is contrastingly regal, in dark racing green and gold alongside the regular black and white accents. The designation VK-1411 adorns the titan’s hull.

“You taught your titan to swear?” she asks the punk incredulously.

“You didn’t? First thing I ever said that Victoria heard was ‘cunt’.” Chloe retorts like it’s the most logical thing in the frontier.

“Anyway Kate, do you know what we’re doing?” asks a slightly disturbed Max.

“I have downloaded, reviewed and understood the mission brief. Are you ready to depart?”

“Sure thing, Kate. Tell Admiral Stone we want to see The Last Resort first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Due to the fact that U-Haul likely doesn't exist on the Frontier, I have fabricated the company Harmony Haul, or H-Haul. It serves the same purpose.
> 
> So, did anyone guess that's what I'd do to Kate and Victoria? I thought it was clever anyway. Big thanks to Lacey for helping me with their colour schemes.
> 
> This is fic is still totally all about the denial of feelings, but every now and again these two aren't going to be able to help their gay selves. OK maybe they'll do it a lot. You're going to love how hard these dumbasses try to convince themselves that there isn't an Atmosphere™.
> 
> Warren made his only appearance in this fic. RIP him. I had to make up his rank, because Commander Air Group - Transport may be what the Americans use (And what little canonical info of the Militia's command structure exists is based on the US), but it's waaay too much of a mouthful.
> 
> When I said this fic wouldn't be pulling an MCS James McAllan, I meant it. Yes it may have been... about four months since chapter one, but I assure you I am committed to this AU. Hopefully the next chapter won't take as long, but I can't make promises. Tune in next time when we fuck about with Droz and Davis, and add another dimension to this fic. Yes that's a spoiler. No it doesn't involve Phase Shift.
> 
> Thanks for putting up with me, and I hope you enjoyed this (or at least didn't hate it).
> 
> (Sidenote here, are any of you coming from the Titanfall fandom, or are you all LiS peeps? I'm really curious).


	3. Update: Operation Respawn the Entertainment

So.

Hi.

Been a while.

If you're reading this, you found it at the top of a tag (Thank you for checking it out! Sorry this isn't a proper chapter three), or you got an email and are disappointed (Thanks for subscribing to this! Sorry this isn't a proper chapter three). Either way, you want to know why this hasn't updated. Well, the Big Sad is eternally overbearing, and some shit went down, but on the plus side I figured out why I don't like my writing. I like my concepts, and I'm fairly confident my characterisations are good. The problem is, well, I can't seem to write in a way I find engaging. And If I can't read it, you lot definitely won't. And now that I know what's wrong, I can work on fixing it. The other bit of good news is I've told myself I really need to get my shit together, so I'm going to try working on this more. I'm doing a massive fucking plot write-up right now, because trying to wing it did _not_ work.

It'll take a while, but I should be in a position to start publishing new chapters with in a month or two. If I don't, **be sure to yell at me in the comments.** If y'all yell at me, it'll tell me "Hey, people want to read this! Get writing fucker!" Feedback is a great way to make me write more.

Cool.

I'mma go back to blasting Union songs at half one am and trying to work around like ten years of gifted-kid-burnout. Later!

**Author's Note:**

> So, is anyone excited? I can't wait for the bit where I kill Eliot (He dies in all my fics, whether in the story or mentioned in the news. He deserves it, the creepy bastard.)
> 
> This year is going to be pretty busy for me, so my uploads will be a little inconsistent. I'll get my amazing beta's Lazer and Adder (Who are tagged as Co-Authors, go check out their fics) to nag me every now and again, but it's a critical time, and I may not have a choice but to ignore them from time to time. Still, this work WILL NOT be pulling an MCS James McAllan.
> 
> If you want to chat shit with us, or keep up to date with all of our fics, join us on Discord: https://discord.gg/9nkzhdp
> 
> Edit @ 23:00, 1/9/19: Added missing detail to Briggs' briefing regarding deployment and extraction.
> 
> Edit @ 01:29 5/11/19: Revamped the chapter slightly, fixing a few details and spelling/grammar errors in preparation for the posting of chapter 2.


End file.
